


And I Would Build a Home For You, For Me

by demisms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demisms/pseuds/demisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I think I understand the Targaryens," he murmurs against her skin one time. She's quiet for a moment, and just when her chest rises with a breath that is about to become words, he amends; "I think I understand our father."</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>"I love you to the point of madness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Would Build a Home For You, For Me

After he spills his seed across her thighs, he likes to press his face between her breasts and let her card his hair through her fingers. On occasion he likes to dip his hand between her legs, drag his fingertips through the milky fluid and then explore where he had already been. Sometimes he likes to mark her skin with his mouth in places her chemise will cover but that she'll feel when the laces of her bodice cinch the fabric tight against them. He likes thinking about them at other times, when the two of them are seated in the grand hall and she is inclined just so over the tabletop - while talking to the visiting Trystane Martell - that her breasts push and swell at the laces. 

Sometimes he likes to bid her sing to him, with a voice made sweet by all the iced honey milk she drinks. Once in a while he likes to breath in her scent before raising his head and bringing his face to hers so she can take his chin in her hands and pepper kisses across his eyelids. From time to time he likes to wait a beat and roll them both over, urge her to ride him and spill inside her this time despite her half-hearted protests. Intermittently, he just rolls a pert, pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger until his eyes drift closed and they just sleep like that, awakening in a tangle of arms and legs and golden hair splayed across milky white pillows like rays of sunshine across the bleached walls of the Red Keep.

And sometimes he likes to talk. To indulge and think out loud in the presence of someone he knows couldn't - wouldn't - use it against him in some way or another. Sometimes, however, when he talks he talks about stupid things.

"I think I understand the Targaryens," he murmurs against her skin one time. She's quiet for a moment, and just when her chest rises with a breath that is about to become words, he amends; "I think I understand our father."

"Our father would not understand us," she said softly as Joffrey brushed his teeth across the inclining curve of her breast. 

"Hmmm," he responded. "Our father is dead."

She laughed for a moment, chest hitching in short giggles that tampered off when he rose his head and looked at her. There's the crease in her brow that only appears when she thinks he's mad at her. It's a fold of skin he must assuage with a brush of his thumb across her skin. Sometimes it takes kisses as well, but this time only words.

"One loved their sisters." Her eyes are greener than his, he thinks. Greener and prettier. "The other loved and found himself in madness." The crease is still there, and it begins to bother him. Joffrey moves to prop himself up on his hands and loom over her, to look her square in the eye. She has to understand him, she always has; she has to soothe him, comfort him, and make the tight coils of angry emotion in his chest go away. She always has. "I understand them both, sister. I love you madly, to the _point_ of madness. And nothing is like to change that. Ever. _Ever,_ you understand?"

She doesn't move. She stares, and he moves his hand to rest at the base of her throat. It's a gentle touch. It's only ever gentle with her, though. 

"I would kill everyone in this whole world for you; kill them all until no one would even try to touch us - to touch you. I'd start tomorrow, with the fucking Martells. I'd slip a poison in their drink to show them what I think about guest rite. The Starks soon after, just to give you a wolfskin cloak. Then whoever I want, whoever I thought might take you from me. And when they called me mad, I would welcome the title. For you - _for you._ Do you understand?"

She nods to him, brushes her fingers through his hair, kisses him and bids him _sleep, brother, yes I understand; of course i understand._ But the crease stays for years after.


End file.
